Back Early
by xsilicax
Summary: Missing scene for the Pilot. The end from Jess' point of view. What happened while the boys were outside, and after.


**Title:** Back Early

**Author:** XsilicaX aka Cathy

**Category:** Missing scene; Angst.

**Characters: **Jess; A little of Sam and Dean.

**Words:** 4000 exactly! And I didn't force it, I promise.

**Spoilers:** Pilot

**Disclaimer:** SO not mine!

**Summary:** What Jess experienced while the boys were saying their goodbyes outside.

**Back Early**

Sam was back early; that was my first thought, as I reluctantly opened my eyes, yawning and snuggling deeper into my pillow.

He'd phoned earlier and told me he and Dean were on their way back from wherever woods, that they'd arrive in the early hours and not to bother waiting up for him. He'd told me he hadn't found his dad; he was troubled, but didn't seem too worried by it. He'd sounded weird; sad but strangely alive, in a way I'd rarely heard. For some odd reason I'd felt a pang of loss ache in my stomach. This was a side of Sam I'd never really experienced. There was this whole other person that Dean had grown up with, that he'd never shared with me.

But he was back, and he was back early, and he'd managed to sneak into the room without making any noise. I guess he didn't want to wake me. I smiled lopsidedly at the back of his head, from where I was comfortably buried in the quilt. He was such a sweetheart. I debated how likely it was I could reach over and grab my hairbrush before he turned around at the noise. A girl's got to look good even in the middle of the night, you know? Besides, I'd been sleeping, my hair was a mess, and I'd missed him. He was standing by the window, looking out at something; I couldn't see what, the streetlight had blown again. He was eating one of the cookies I'd made.

"Hey, Sam," I greeted him, sitting up in bed and stretching. My nightshirt slipped off one shoulder, showing bare skin that should have had him over by the bed in a flash. "Just got back?"

I was whispering. The walls were paper-thin in these apartments, and my business was no one's but my own, so I figured he hadn't heard me when he didn't turn around.

I could hear a car's engine turning over outside, it was probably his brother's car, just dropped him off. It was pretty loud at godawful a.m. I raised my voice a little to be heard over it, but not too loud that everyone and the street could hear me. "Dean's not staying the night?" That seemed a bit strange to me; the guys had been driving through the worst part of the night, surely Sam would have let him put up here for a couple of hours?

Sam didn't react, he just kept his back turned, munching, and I was starting to feel irritated. There's a fine line between being distracted and ignoring a person. I mean I'd gone to all the trouble of baking those cookies, and resisted sampling more than one or two; I had to be sure they tasted good, after all. "I missed you," I told his back. I'd spent the whole weekend worrying on and off whether or not he was alright - he'd sounded pretty tense at times on the phone - and here he was, eating my hard work, and not only was he not saying whether or not he even liked them, he hadn't said hello yet either. Something was wrong.

"You alright, Sam?" I asked him, throwing back the covers and scrunching up my toes as they hit the cold of the wooden floor. Halfway across the room I wished I'd pulled a sweater on as well, maybe some slippers. Well never mind, Sam could keep me warm. But there'd better be something seriously up with him, making me get out of bed like this, instead of greeting me like he should have.

"Sam?" I whispered, as I shivered my way towards him at the window; I didn't want to startle him. But he was still giving me the cold shoulder. I glared at his back; he had to be doing this on purpose. It didn't help improve my mood that the lights flickered off at that moment, and I stubbed my toe on the corner of the dresser.

I was hopping up and down, cursing my foot, the cabinet, the architect who designed the place, and Sam who was _still_ determinedly ignoring me. Surely he must have heard that racket? Where's the concern? And I'd thought meeting his brother would get him to open up more, not pull away. As soon as the pain in my foot died down enough for me to limp over to Sam for some sympathy, the lights came back up again. The rats must be brushing against the wiring or something, I'd heard them scratching around earlier, I think that was what woke me. I really hoped they didn't decide to chew through them. Fried rat smell would be a killer to get out of the furniture.

Sam's shoulders seemed pretty stiff and his posture was all wrong. Normally he would have leaned against the sill, or the side of the window, not stood ramrod straight. And now I was starting to get really worried about him. Yeah he was bound to be a little bit tense, tomorrow was a big day after all, and maybe seeing Dean again after who-knows-how-long-because-he-never-spoke-about-anything had thrown him a little, but he'd seemed normal if a little wired when he'd packed up and left two days ago. What had happened since then that he hadn't wanted to tell me on the phone?

I decided he could use a friendly hug, despite his determination to pretend I wasn't there, and grabbed him from behind, burying my head into his back and inhaling. I'd missed my Sam. He must have washed his jacket while he'd been away though, because there was no tang of Sam smell, just a hint of air and smoke. Maybe he and Dean had been hitting the bars searching for Mr AWOL. I pulled my head away, and reached up to massage his shoulders. He grunted. Finally, a response! Albeit a poor one. The tension in his neck was unbelievable.

"Wow, Sam, you must have been driving for ages." I dug my fingers in pretty hard, but he didn't react, and I couldn't seem to make a dent in those knots. I gave up, rubbing him one final time between his shoulder blades. My feet were freezing blocks now, and he still hadn't said hello. Maybe he'd let me give him a real work over after the interview.

"Miss me?" I kissed the back of his neck, brushing aside his hair that just nestled there, and again once on each shoulder for luck, before sliding between the window and he, and burrowing into his arms for warmth, tucking my head under his chin where it fit so well. His face was turned away from me, staring out into the blackness. I made sure to stand on his feet, not least because he was too tall to reach comfortably otherwise. I shivered and snuggled closer; it was damn cold over by the window. He must have been standing outside saying goodbye to Dean for ages though, because he felt colder than I did.

Despite the tightening of his arms around me he still hadn't said anything to me yet, and I released him reluctantly. He was in one of _those_ moods. This was not the homecoming I'd been expecting or looking forwards to. Oh well, maybe he'd be feeling more relaxed after the interview. My eyes were drooping now; I'd tried to stay awake waiting for him even though he'd said not to, and with the unseasonable cold added in, I was feeling pretty bushed. I rested my head on his chest briefly, squeezing him hard once to let him know I understood and wouldn't hold it against him too much, before pulling away, and turning to stare a little blindly at the bed. I had to blink a few times to get it into focus. "Come on Sam, let's go to bed; you've got to be rested for tomorrow."

I grabbed his hand and tugged him gently towards the bed. It was rumpled where I'd been lying, the covers still pushed back, and it looked so inviting. I stifled a yawn; it wouldn't do to let Sam think I'd been waiting up for him, even though I had. It would just go to his head.

To say I was surprised when Sam pulled me back was a bit of an exaggeration. He often did silly things like that, winding me up, poking fun at me, and then ravishing me all over while I laughed myself silly. And suddenly I smiled; he couldn't have been that bad off if he was willing to play. _My_ Sam had come home. I grinned up at him, eyes dancing with play and a little relief. My smile died.

I could feel his grip on my wrist tighten painfully; his hand was large enough to completely enclose it. I stared hard at it, trying to swallow back my terror, watching the skin start to whiten as the pressure increased. It was better than staring into that face, those _eyes_. This wasn't Sam. This wasn't _human_.

I could feel this kind of _pressure_ coming from Not!Sam. He didn't say anything, just looked at me intently through those strange yellow eyes. I could feel the weight of his gaze burning into my forehead. In the brief, shocked glances I dared myself to give him he looked hungry, and angry, and tense with anticipation; and he exuded this aura of menace. The lights flickered off and on again, and I could hear that rustle, as though everything in the room that could move was standing to attention. A wave of static seemed to wash over me, and every hair on my arms and legs rose straight out.

"What are you?" I managed to ask; more of a mumble to myself really, amid quick, panicked breaths. I was still barely able to look it in the face, and I didn't want to anger it. Superficially, he still resembled Sam. I knew he wasn't, but it felt more wrong somehow, because it was corrupting something familiar.

I was shaking. My arm was freezing now, colder than ever my feet had been; the warmth was being sucked out through my skin, where he touched me. I could feel his fingers digging into me; his hand was rough, with great calluses that scraped across me when I twisted my arm in his grip. I tried to pull away, my knees threatening to buckle beneath me as I felt his nails pierce my skin. I kicked out at him in reaction, but missed when he yanked me up by the arm so that my feet weren't touching the floor, pulling me against him. I could feel that alien coldness seeping into me where my back was pressed against him. His breath was rasping in my ears, and he was smelling me.

I screamed.

Not!Sam didn't seem to like that, and I was whipped violently through the air, colliding viciously with the wall above the bed, shocked tears forced from my eyes. I bounced forwards; scream abruptly silenced as the breath was knocked out of me. I collapsed onto the bed stunned by the impact, staring up through streaming eyes at this figure who was growing taller and nearer and was still staring hungrily at me through those freaky eyes. I couldn't breathe. I was trapped and alone, and I was shaking so much I could barely move. This was nightmare stuff.

I could hear my pulse racing in my ears; my heart was pounding. I shot desperate glances around the room looking for a weapon of some kind. There was nothing. I glanced over at the bedside table, skipping past my cell and hairbrush, looking for the clock. Sam and his brother were due back soon, surely. I just had to hold out for a little while longer. The thing laughed then, a hideous crackle, which I could feel echoing deep inside my stomach. I realised from his grin that that was what he wanted, why he was here. He was waiting for Sam; suddenly I didn't want him to come back at all.

My head wasn't ringing as loudly from the bang on the wall, so I made a dive for my cell. I grabbed it in one hand, and made to roll off the bed and hide under it, hoping to get enough time to dial. I was jerked back - the edge of the mattress digging into my stomach - by a grip on my ankle, which no amount of kicking out at could shift. I could feel the creature's other hand rising up my leg, sliding past the knee, and crawling slowly up my thigh, under my nightie. I squeezed my eyes shut. Tears were leaking out the sides and running down my face into my hair, where I was still bent over the edge of the bed. They didn't have time to dry as the hands swept over my stomach, tightening sharply around my waist jerking me back onto the bed. A cold, hot, soft, dry, rough thing scraped against my face, absorbing the wetness. I held my breath willing whatever it was to go away, crying harder, but the sensation didn't stop. It was wet and coarse and I didn't know what it was and couldn't stand it any more. I opened one eye.

I started to scream; again.

Not!Sam, the-yellow-eyed-freak, had his face pulled right up to me, staring into mine. His eyes, dark with hunger and satiation bored intently into me. I could feel the eager quickness of his breaths; he was pressed so tightly against me. I was pinned by his hands on my shoulders, and his knees on the front of my thighs. As I tried to shrink back, his tongue flashed out, lapping at the wetness on my cheeks. I choked off a cry; I wanted to throw up. He was licking my tears up. He was getting off on the taste of my terror. I stabbed blindly at the buttons on my phone; 911 was pretty easy to dial even when not looking. I needn't have bothered. Whatever freaky static weirdness that was going on had screwed me over with the phone; it was dead.

I was terrified that maybe I was too.

I heard Dean's car pull up then; that engine sound was unmistakeable. Not!Sam-freaky-bugger smiled, turning his head as though he could see outside. I tried to scream Sam's name, I'm honestly not sure whether I was begging him to save me or to run away. I just know I was trying to scream at him, but with the tears and the thing pressing against my chest I couldn't catch my breath or make any other noise than choked sobs. Taking a deep breath, I tried to tip him off me and flee, while his head was turned towards the window. I got him halfway imbalanced, feet on the floor, but his head shot back around and I was suddenly pinned to the wall, arms spread. Distantly I heard the engine cut off. They were coming. Please God they were coming.

I cried out, startled out of my prayer, as I felt myself sliding up the wall. I could feel the chill of the stone seeping through my nightgown as I was dragged upwards, spread-eagled out. The fabric caught slightly where a hanging nail still jutted out, and I could feel it break skin. The warmth of blood trickling down my leg broke whatever calm I had managed to rally, and I cried out loud, "SAM!"

Outside I could hear a door slamming, and then the car start up again and I felt dizzy and crushed, tears again coming to my eyes as hope seemed to get further away. In here all I could hear was the scraping and rustling noise I was making, sliding up the wall. I squeezed my eyes shut, nauseous, when my head hit the ceiling, and then my neck was cruelly twisted as I was spun up and flipped over so that I was facing down over the bed. I couldn't see the freak any more, yet something was still holding me up, trapped. I heard the turn of a key in the lock.

"Jess; you home?" I could hear the floor creaking as he walked across the room, pausing once. Oh God, Sam. Don't come up here please! I was crying with fear, but another part of me was begging just as loudly for him to come in and save me.

It was the middle of the night. The lights had flickered out again, and only the faint glow of moonlight illuminated the room. It made everything into shadows and darkness and more scary. I could see the quilt lying on the bed, pulled up to the pillows, as though I had never even been in the room. My cell had vanished, and there was no sign that there had been a struggle. It was definitely setting a trap for Sam. I tried to scream a warning as I heard his footsteps coming up the hallway, and I felt an invisible hand cover my nose and mouth, silencing me. My head was jerked up and banged against the ceiling in warning.

Sam entered the room, dropping his duffel by the doorway. He looked tired, and sad, and I wanted to reach out and hug him, bury myself in his arms and hide. He let out a sigh; fatigue? Relief at being home? He sat on the edge of the bed and lay back.

My breath caught as I felt a cool, sharp thing resting against my stomach. Oh God, there was a knife or something like it pressed against me, I could feel it digging into me as I breathed out, but could see nothing when I looked. I tried to scream again, trying to bite through the hand that was holding me, but there was nothing there. No sound came out. I was just mouthing at Sam, begging him to look up. I was shaking again. He was eating one of my cookies, and I felt like crying. I was crying. We were about to die, and I just needed him to look up.

He looked so peaceful lying there, arms crossed behind his head, eyes shut. He was home and he was happy and he didn't know that everything was going to end in a minute. I flinched and wanted to double up as a burning streak rippled across my stomach, the knife sensation cutting through my nightdress as though it wasn't even there. Flesh too. And then there was blood, and pain. Oh God, the pain.

Sam was lying there underneath me, so close, and I was bleeding and crying and screaming and trapped and he couldn't hear me. His eyes were shut and he was falling asleep and I was just going to die up here, above him. My chest heaved as I struggled to draw in breath, fighting pain and panic. I was still pinned, but I could twitch my arms and legs, and frantically did so, trying to make enough noise that he would look up and see me. What he could do I didn't know, but I needed him to see me.

And then it happened. I was soaked in sweat, fear and tears, and my blood was sliding out of my body while I was pinned on the ceiling. Gravity had something to say about that. I watched through blurry eyes as a drop of glistening red fell from me, twisting through the air to fall perfectly onto his forehead as if by design. Freak probably wanted it to do that. Once that first drop fell, the next wasn't far behind. I was leaking, onto Sam.

Oh Sam!

He'd twitched at the first drop - maybe he thought it was a fly - but the second had him opening his eyes, and then he was staring up at me, jaw dropping. I was screaming his name, soundlessly, and he was still lying back, shocked. "No!" He cried out, but didn't move beyond sitting up; he was still on that bed staring up at me staring down at him.

And then I couldn't see him anymore. When I looked down I saw flames and smoke and they were everywhere. My nightdress was on fire; I guess flame retardant isn't fireproof. And Sam was still screaming my name, and I was begging him to get out while he could, but he couldn't hear me. The roaring of the flames was so loud. He was lying on the bed surrounded by a sea of fire, which was getting nearer the doorway, and soon he wouldn't be able to get out. And he wasn't moving. I could feel that thing laughing through the static in the air. This was what he'd wanted. Sam was trapped by me. I was going to kill him.

I was crying in earnest then, tears falling from my eyes but being consumed by the flames before they even left my face. Between the smoke and the sobs it was getting hard to breathe. I was coughing and choking and my eyes were streaming, and Sam was coughing and screaming and staring up and not moving, and I couldn't get myself free to make him get out.

"Sam!"

I was hurting now. The flames were licking at my skin, catching the hairs on my arms and burning them up; little pinpricks against the mighty pain that was barbequing me. The ceiling was melting, soaking into my nightgown, burning through into my skin. I could see flames dancing out of the corners of my eyes, just tickling the edge of my hair. My chest felt as though I was breathing in flames, and I hurt so much elsewhere I could barely feel the wound across my stomach.

And then Dean burst through the door, looking round at the flames and Sam, before following his brother's gaze up to me. He paused, stunned. I saw the expression on his face as he looked at me, and I knew that he'd seen this before. That he recognised it. Maybe this was why Sam never spoke about the past.

Sam was cowering on the bed, trying to shield himself from the fire with his arms; he hadn't even seen that Dean was in the room until his brother grabbed him.

"We've got to get out!"

I could barely hear or see through the roar surrounding me. My tears were roasting away, but I knew I was crying as Dean had to drag him out.

"Jess!" Sam was fighting him, crying out to come back for me. "Jess, No!"

My voice had gone now, burned up, I could only mouth words. "I love you; run." I hoped he could see them through the smoke. I hoped he would find some way of killing this piece of shit who was stealing my life. Mostly, I prayed hard that neither of them would try to come back in for me. It was too late.

The fire had reached my hair see, and I was screaming even as I could feel the insides of my mouth drying up and cooking in the heat. The skin on my lips was cracking and my face was literally melting. My eyebrows were gone, and my eyelashes. I wanted to throw my hands in front of my face, but I was still pinned to the ceiling. The pillow below was soaked with my blood, a darker red amid the orange. The smoke was stinging my eyes but I kept them open, trying to sear Sam's face into my memory.

And then he was gone.

I could feel the room exploding, heat and fire overwhelming me. The thing, whatever it was, was furious that Sam had escaped. But I was glad.

Sam was home early. That was my last thought. And he'd lived.

**Author's Ramble:**

I seem to currently be obsessed with the pilot, and am working on yet another piece which will deal with events in the week following. It's tentatively called 'Getting By'. I'm experimenting with voices and narrators, as I don't think I've found one I'm comfortable with yet. This is my first ever piece in first person (which I hate, so proofreading has been interesting!). I don't think it really works, as Jess is too coherent describing events when really she would be in too much pain and fear to think like this, but I've done it now.

I said it was a ramble! Hope you made it through and enjoyed the journey; send me a post-review-card if you did!

Cathy.


End file.
